


It Starts With A Handshake: Divided We Fall

by reveriewit



Series: Stark Moments [7]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Civil War (Marvel), Director of SHIELD Tony Stark, Extremis Tony Stark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveriewit/pseuds/reveriewit
Summary: A piece combining the final battle between Tony and Steve towards the end of Captain America: Civil War with elements of the 616 Civil War comic event.





	It Starts With A Handshake: Divided We Fall

          “You’ve got five minutes.” A courteous nod is offered in Stark’s direction, the azure helm swaying gently as Rogers’ line of vision remains strategically poised on the futurist’s, tensions beginning to ease as the knots embedded in Tony’s shoulders start to unwind against layers of protective metal. The engineer knew that the other founding Avenger would eventually see reason, dormant pessimism drifting away as stern features inevitably soften.

                    “Five minutes is all I  ** _need...“_   **Relief sinks in, the man automatically firing off a silent signal to SHIELD’s dispatched  ** _‘Cape Killers’_**  who linger in the distance, a coded directive received via digital comms for them to stand down under his dictated protocol that had been ascertained beforehand. Discussions were to ensue, and the last thing Tony wanted was for them to engage with untoward interference hindering any means of reconciliation. 

           ** _It starts with a handshake_**  - a gesture which is firm yet familiar, the metallic red gauntlet maintaining the motion as the blue eyes reflected back to him momentarily avert to the side, a subtle flicker of movement akin to a  ** _tell_**  which unfortunately alludes to something almost toxic present in the air. The air trapped in Stark’s throat upon inhalation as quick firing neurons extrapolate the potential meaning - but it’s too late, synapses going into overdrive as a sensor begins to howl within the disjointed fragments of the opened visor, detecting a small measure of interference which was inevitably going to amplify. An automated reaction as the encased palm is carefully turned over to reveal a minuscule device planted from the brief yet  ** _trusting_** physical contact.

                    Temporary suspicion makes way for searing  ** _agony,_**  a series of  ** _sharp_** electronic pulses shooting out to penetrate the suit, traversing along intricate circuitry with the intention of bringing the suit offline - a SHIELD electron scrambler previously developed by Nick Fury’s tech team to counteract the possibility of the engineer ever turning rogue and going to the  _‘other side’_   **(**   _whatever the hell that meant_   **).**  But the shock doesn’t simply cut off the power and subsequent motor functions of the armour, the developers having not considered at the time of conception of a much greater part being played by the CEO himself with his current physical condition.

          As with the past months leading up to the altercation, Extremis neurologically linked Tony with his array of suits, the impact of such a shock bordering on  ** _incapacitation,_**  nerve endings viciously  ** _igniting_** as the jolts drive directly into Stark’s cerebellum. Impulses that sever the association and override every part of the man’s biology, indicators of potential cardiac arrest and heightened nerve damage flagged up in memory logs after the fact. Limbs grow inadequately heavy, the weight of alloys dragging the man and rooting him to the spot as the privilege of free movement is crippled, unforthcoming servos whirring in stagnated transition. But that doesn’t stop the engineer’s perseverance, a burdensome arm raised in defiance - an utterance of  ** _“son of a bitch!”_**  audibly yelled in Rogers’ direction as the blond’s fist squarely connects with his jaw.

                    The strength of the blow is  ** _brutal,_**  the brunt of the force sending a shockwave which is almost as paralysingly awe-striking as that initial  ** _traitorous_** and dirty move, his first and second upper bicuspids shattering in the process into jagged pieces within the confines of the CEO’s mouth  **(**   _so much for that dental veneer..._   **).**  There’s the taste of iron at the back of his throat which Tony isn’t particularly unfamiliar with after far too many violent occasions, a pool of crimson savagely emerging and verging on stifling his ability to breath, lips falling agape to messily  ** _spit_**  the fractured fragments and liquid. All while being subjected to subsequent expertly delivered knocks to the chest and visage to keep him off balance and on his toes, a series of fast paced movements that the futurist maintains a visual record of regardless of his inability to fully fight back barring defensive manoeuvres.

          The physical pain doesn’t begin to compare with the sense of damaging ** _disappointment_** that the Avenger experiences, sentiment and conviction in the blond he had once considered a friend diminishing to an all time low despite years of self-imposed lowering expectations. Stark notices that the accompanying members of both parties have engaged in combat without his express permission, and it’s just as well - no one appears to want to go down without a fight, cogs turning as the genius digs deeper to conclude why this little godforsaken rendezvous had been agreed to. Their location indicating that this whole ordeal had been a goddamn diversion for a much grander scheme, one which he attempts to relay to the SHIELD team with little success in effectively connecting with.

                    It makes the futurist sick to his stomach, the notion of he and his immediate team being played as pawns in this whole endeavour, silently scolding himself in self-loathing as Rogers continues his assault - strategy that sees the soldier opt to reduce the possibility of evasive actions, his shield powerfully swung to make contact with and severely damage one of the suit’s jetboots. A surge of outwardly imperceptible heat is experienced, singed internal biological connectors beneath the billionaire’s dermis being systemically repaired to re-gain an integral means of communication with the suit, a backup axiom in place which is desperately invoked and kicked into high gear.

          A sharp jut of Tony’s chin sees his visor swiftly close with a snap, a  ** _minor_** victory considering that it transiently halts the hammering to his injured face, the true aim being for the man to bring up whatever remnants of his HUD that he could. It’s scarcely present due to the lack of power, but that all changes, the futurist beginning to manually override configurations through sheer grit and determined thought alone beneath echoing  ** _bludgeons_** creating a morbidly bloodthirsty beat. The process commencing with a distant remote connection established from a private server at Stark Industries, infiltrating his armour’s complex framework with the inclusion of an ethereal voice that embodies an Irish  ** _twang._**

 ** < POWER RE-ROUTE SUCCESSFUL. REBOOTING**  
** & BACK ONLINE, SIR. ANALYSING OPPONENT’S **  
**FIGHT PATTERN. COUNTER-MEASURES READY >**

          Months of development with the use of excessive real-world simulations post J.A.R.V.I.S.’s  _‘departure’,_  and  ** _this_**  was how F.R.I.D.A.Y. was being debuted in the field  **(**   _with an opponent at the peak of his game, no less_   **).**  Time to put their physical and virtual money where their respective mouths were, the AI rapidly commencing to analyse the logged memories and current visuals of Captain Rogers’ fighting prowess whilst under pressure - past and present footage alike invoked, minute details drawn open and utilised to project the trajectory of his upcoming aggressive approach. Tony daringly lowers his visage, glancing at the other man one final time from behind the limiting visual slots embedded within the visor, noting the barrage of blows dedicated to expressly cause damage to his armour when---  The counter-measures are engaged, a gauntlet raised with perfect timing, fingertips clasping the curved outline of the blond’s shield before he can deliver another downward shove.

** < LET’S KICK HIS ASS >**

          Iron Man’s opposing repulsor whirrs to life, an accentuated blast traversing to send the circular layers of vibranium hurtling across the open space, a loud  ** _clang_**  heard as it makes contact with the hard ground in a sorry heap. Instinctively blocking a defensive and protective jab from the other, a secondary burst of energy is aimed squarely at the centre of the other man's chest, the impact sending him painfully careening away in a less than glamorous fashion. Stark’s damaged boot makes it difficult to effectively fly in a cohesive manner, sparks haphazardly expelled from the open aperture. And yet he follows suite nonetheless, each gauntlet’s repulsor firing up to inflict an additional means of momentum whilst distributing further collisions to the older Avenger’s visage - a sense of mercy having vehemently  ** _diminished_** since the start of this whole ordeal, animosity steadily rising over the months and progressively filling with hate.

 ** < YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME, STEVE. **  
**THIS ARMOUR HAS RECORDED EVERY PUNCH**  
**YOU’VE EVER THROWN. IT KNOWS YOUR MOVES**  
**BEFORE YOU DO. STAY DOWN. FINAL WARNING >**

          However there’s a lingering ounce left, the now dominant futurist sneering as an outstretched palm is poignantly raised. The words are met with a weary yet rebellious display, the patriotic Avenger rising to his feet with a fatigued albeit challenging stance, arms defensively lifting to either side of his visage to form fists ready for further combat. 

 _“I can do this all day..."_ It’s the comment regarding Steve’s  ** _previous_** moves which cleverly strikes him, contemplating and retrieving a sense of  ** _spontaneity,_**  for a tactic that could seem  _‘out of character’_  for him.  ** _Counter-intuitive..._**  The blond abruptly lunges with the full weight of his body, effectively knocking the armoured man onto his back with a loud crash, delivering opportunistic punches to the visor once more with the intent of dislodging it and halting any potential communication or requests for backup. The objective only partially succeeding at first, the soldier’s displaced shield grabbed to distribute a series of acute shunts to rip it off, met with the futurist’s horror-stricken expression as blood pools over tanned flesh wounded by the afflicted damage.

                     For the first time in quite a while, there’s an air of terrifying  ** _unpredictability_** to Steve, a notion which shakes the engineer to his very core - echoes of a previous conversation where Tony had proclaimed that he  ** _’never trusted anyone without a dark side’_**  coming to mind. The unknown was a concept that the dark haired man was accustomed to analysing, to find conclusive parameters to put an end to uncharted territory. So when the soldier raises the shield once more, Stark doesn’t necessarily know what to think, instinctively raising his gauntlets to protect his panicked features and  **(**   _more importantly_   **)**  the crucial cerebral payload resting in the layers within. And yet the curvature of the metal disk meets with the outer casing of the arc reactor powering the suit instead, the brusque damage putting an end to the distribution of sustainable and clean energy supply, rendering the armour useless  **(**   _it may as well be a glorified metal coffin_   **).**

          The would-be teammates remain poised in their conclusive lethargy, Rogers collapsing from the futurist as the battle comes to an anti-climatic end, fatigue taking over the both of them as realisation sinks in amidst breathless pants. There are a number of comments that come to Tony’s mind amidst this entire debacle, but it’s the immediacy of the vibranium shield being present that sees him focus on it. Eyes acrimoniously  ** _fixated_** upon it as it remains clutched in Steve’s tired hand - the singular means of ensuring the futurist’s current defeat. The man muttering in  ** _embittered_** confrontation, reflective of a hidden history that he and the two  ** _‘men out of time’_**  hiding behind patriotic colours shared.

_“That shield doesn’t belong to you..._

_You **don’t**  deserve it. My father made that shield...”_


End file.
